The death of Maxford

The mysterious man told him that Maxford was dead, strangled in his tent right after they had been drinking together.

Someone took advantage of Maxford's intoxication to follow him into the park and then murdered him. The delirious Maxford didn't even shout or resist; he simply died An Jing in his bed.

When Lake heard the news, his first reaction was not shock, but sadness and extreme regret.

Last night's encounter made him think he had found a friend he had known for a long time, even though they were on opposing sides. At least on the Clown's soul channel, the two could resonate perfectly.

But who could have imagined that the resonance would vanish in just one night?

Lake couldn't believe it. He was afraid someone was using the drinking session to upset him, so he insisted on getting the mysterious man to reveal his identity before deciding whether to believe him or not.

The mysterious man remained silent for a long time before quietly removing his hood.

As that head of curly hair fell down, a terrified Lake recognized the person in front of him.

Mrs. Flord!

The leader of Morning Cheer arrived before him at dawn, bringing him devastating news that shattered his peaceful heart.

Do you still think I'm playing a prank?

Flord's eyes were filled with tears.

"I didn't need to come here if Maxford died in the night. I could have just reported it all to the Royal Family, and the audience's spittle and insults would Dusk Play Mu to the pillar of shame."

At this crucial moment, who will kill Maxford?

The answer is obvious!

Lake panicked; he shook his head repeatedly and backed away.

"It wasn't me! I didn't kill him, it really wasn't me!"

Mrs. Flord's eyes clearly held hatred, but she did not rebuke Lake. Instead, she suppressed her grief, took a deep breath, and said:

"Perhaps it wasn't you, but can you deny that the murderer is Dusk Play?"

"I..."

Faced with this situation, Lake couldn't shake off the connection to Dusk Play. He put himself in Xi Mu's shoes: if he died at night, would Dusk Play's friends and Ringmaster Fait think that Morning Cheer was the murderer?

Won't!

They would probably think of Morning Cheer first.

Lake was terrified and Despair because he knew that once this was exposed, regardless of whether the murderer was actually from Dusk Play, Dusk Play's reputation would be ruined.

People only believe what they want to believe, and they don't care about the truth at all. Even if the Royal Family clears their Dusk Play after an investigation, who will want to believe it?

Moreover, how could one possibly maintain such innocence?

Lake himself couldn't believe the killer was anyone else; he just couldn't believe who would be so bold as to go across the street and kill someone.

However, as a member of Dusk Play, he still tried to defend Dusk Play's reputation, saying:

"Fitt once said we weren't allowed to harass Morning Cheer with underhanded tactics; Dusk Play must win fair and square..."

Flord kept sneering:

"He forbids you from using underhanded tactics, but what if he uses them himself?"

"!!!" Lake was shocked. "You mean the murderer is Fitt? No! Absolutely not! I admit that there were indeed people in the Dusk Play who didn't want to see Morning Cheer win, but Fitt would never do such a thing."

Flord didn't say anything; she stared intently at Lake for a long time, then said sorrowfully:

"I will find the evidence, but I hope you will not make a fuss until then."

For your own sake, and for the sake of the deceased Maxford, please treat each other with some dignity.

As Flord turned to leave, Lake immediately called her back, his expression complex.

"Why are you telling me all this? Why not just report it to the Royal Family...?"

Flord stopped, his shoulders trembling, and he sobbed as he said:

"Why...

Yes, why!

Perhaps it's because I was once a member of the Dusk Play!

If it weren't for having nowhere to showcase their talents, if it weren't for the suppression they faced, if it weren't for the inability to accept that circus art was like a setting sun sinking below the horizon, who would willingly leave 'home' and stand on the opposite side of 'home'?

Dusk Play... is no longer the Dusk Play of the past.

In their pursuit of victory, they would even kill a highly talented Clown...

Their eyes have long lost any respect and pursuit of art; all they have is corrupt lust for power and decadent indulgence in reaping the benefits of others' labor.

Fortunately, you are different.

As he spoke, Flord turned around, his eyes red-rimmed.

She gazed at Lake, her eyes filled with both resentment and relief.

"To be honest, I didn't come here to tell you all this. I suspected you first, and I wish you were the murderer!"

That way, I can arrest you and make Dusk Play lose a Clown too!

But I can't, because I can tell you're unaware and wouldn't do such a thing.

Like Maxford, you have the most sincere love for the circus and a heartfelt respect for the art of Clown. You are a good kid, unlike them...

A person like you shouldn't be at Dusk Play; you should be at Morning Cheer.

They're like rotten leaves in a muddy pile... unworthy of someone as vibrant as you.

After saying that, Flord left, leaving Lake, deeply shocked, standing there, unable to calm down for a long time.

But soon, Flord returned.

That very night, she found the murderer.

The Clown, who had been in his room all day, suddenly heard a sound outside the window. He listlessly opened the window and saw Flord, wearing a hood, slapping a piece of paper onto his desk in the moonlight.

Lake looked at the footprints on the paper with a puzzled expression, not understanding what they meant, when he heard the other person say:

Even the most meticulous plans can have flaws.

Although the murderer erased all traces inside and outside the room, what he didn't know was that Maxford had replaced the carpet inside the tent with a special type that could leave marks in order to practice his best footwork rhythm.

He used this to constantly improve his footwork, but who could have imagined that before he could even develop the lightest steps, the carpet would record the murderer's footprints for him!

From the tent to the troupe, such a long road was without a trace, only this carpet revealed the murderer's true form!

Although I hate Dusk Play to the core, I have no way to accuse anyone without evidence.

That's why I had no choice but to come to you.

Lake, please help me, for the sake of the time you shared a drunken night with Maxford. I beg you, let me find out if the killer is someone from the Dusk Play.

Do these shoe prints belong to Dusk Play...?

Mrs. Flord burst into tears.

The same applies to Lake.

Because he had already figured out who the footprints belonged to—the murderer was one of Dusk Play's men!

Ringmaster Fait!

The killer really is Fitt!

He was all too familiar with this footprint, not because of the uniform boots worn by the Dusk Play, but because once, when the Clown was playing a prank on the actors, he accidentally spilled a ball of fire on Fitt's feet. Fitt couldn't dodge in time, and the sole of her shoe was scorched by the flames.

However, since the shape of the indentation was somewhat similar to the shape of Dusk Play's emblem, Fitt said it was a good omen, representing that Dusk Play was becoming more down-to-earth, so she decided not to change the boots.

No one knew about this except for Lake, Fitt themselves, and the Acrobat who were present...

With the evidence laid out before him, Lake couldn't bear the psychological pressure of the day any longer and burst into tears.

He didn't understand why Fitt would do such a thing.

Does he not believe in the Dusk Play, or does he not believe in the Clown!?

Does he really think that Dusk Play's Clown is that much less skilled than Morning Cheer's Clown?

Otherwise, why would he specifically target Maxford?

But where does his doing place the art of circus?

Is the century-long pursuit of Dusk Play truly the pinnacle of art, or merely a victory?

Lake was confused. He had thought that Fitt was the person who understood him best in the world, but now he only felt that Fate was a stranger, even less so than Maxford, with whom he had only drunk for one night and had only been friends for one day!

But Maxford died, killed by Fitt.

How ironic, how absurd!